


Aramis is Having an Okay Evening

by PenguinPickle



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherhood, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinPickle/pseuds/PenguinPickle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis is having an okay evening... really its fine. Just a sweet little one-shot that focuses on Aramis and Porthos. Lots of brotherly sweetness. Rated M for some swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aramis is Having an Okay Evening

Aramis was having an okay evening. It could have been worse if he was honest, yes he had an argument with Porthos, yes he had just been robbed twice and was now trudging home alone from a downtown tavern without his coat or purse or weapons but overall it was an okay evening. But then Aramis had never been the best liar if he was honest so he tried not to think too much about his okay evening. It was all really stupid now that he looked back on the argument with Porthos. You see he was going to head straight for the tavern, to his brothers, as soon as he’d been robbed the second time but Porthos needed to cool off and he wasn’t all too ready to sacrifice his pride by returning a muddy mess to the tavern he had just charged out of. No, he was going to march back home and take a decent hot bath and the rest will be history. He smiled to himself at the thought of a hot bath and sighed in pleasure, but as he did it immediately began to rain. Stopping in his tracks he yelled out and kicked at a stone in anger, stubbing his toe at the same time. Thoroughly beyond his positive attitude he marched on and thought about his fight with Porthos while he was getting drenched:

…………………………………………………………………………

The four of them had decided drinks were in order after their busy day and in a sudden need to visit a new tavern they had successfully found the furthest one from the garrison they could. Upon entering they found a table and chatted for a while. Before long Athos had gravitated to a dark quiet corner where he could drink and look miserable in peace, d’Artagnan had found a pretty bar maid to chat up and Aramis and Porthos sat in a comfortable silence with their wine.

Not long after, a well-dressed man appeared at their table looking ready for murder. He was balding and a little plump. He looked much the same age as the Cardinal and had freckles peppering his wrinkled face. His eyes shot daggers at Aramis.

“You the musketeer they call Aramis?” He asked.  
“That would be me, yes.” Aramis answered with one of his brightest smiles.  
“Yeah figured you would be a pretty one,” The man replied, “My name is Jacques Amar and I’m here to deliver a warning musketeer, stay away from my wife Angelique or this,” he pulled out a dagger, and both Aramis and Porthos stiffened, “will find its way in your throat.”  
A few heads in surrounding tables turned to watch the exchange. Before Aramis could even explain that he’d never even met a woman named Angelique Amar, the man whipped around to leave, marching back out of the tavern. Aramis stared at his back, confused, until he was out of site. The sound of a jug banging on the table snapped his attention back to Porthos, who looked beyond angry.  
“Damnit Aramis,” He said, his face contorting in his barely restrained anger, “When is this gonna stop ey? One day one of these husbands are going to kill you.”  
Porthos raised his voice on the last sentence and was squeezing the jug of wine tightly. Aramis could practically feel the anger coming off him in waves.  
“Porthos, I don’t even kno…” Aramis began but Porthos cut him off.

“For goodness sake Aramis, stop being so damn selfish! When some high born man waltzes into this damn pub of all places to threaten your life surely you can get it through your thick skull that this has got to come to an end? How many are there now ey? Five? Ten? Fifteen?”

Aramis could feel himself becoming frustrated as blood rose to his cheek.  
“I never even…” He began, trying to keep himself calm, but was cut off again.

“Spare it Aramis, I don’t want to know what you did or didn’t do with her, I’m just telling you to keep it in your fucking pants for once.”  
At this, Aramis rose from his chair, too angry to speak. Porthos kept his gaze steady, his anger radiating stronger now. Feeling beyond words he turned and marched off pushing a chair to the ground on his way to the door. He walked past a rather confused looking Athos who kept glancing back and forth between them. By the time he was out of the tavern he decided he would just walk back to the garrison, any desire of having a fun night completely evaporated by his anger.

He had been walking for bout twenty minutes when he got robbed the first time. A boy, looking not much older than thirteen stepped out of an alley with a dagger in hand and pointed it straight to Aramis’ chest. Before Aramis could even register what was happening the boy spoke,  
“Give me your coins,” The boy said, “or I’ll cut you.”

Startled, Aramis stared down at the boy. He looked extremely nervous, was even shaking a little and grew visibly pale when he realised he was trying to rob an armed musketeer. Aramis could easily teach this young man a lesson but then he thought how desperate a child he must be to have to threaten someone’s life for food. He noticed the boy was painfully thin too and immediately made a decision. Aramis slowly took his money pouch out his coat pocket and handed it to the lad. The boy looked confused at first, hesitating before taking the money slowly. Once he had it in hand he promptly fled.  
Aramis suddenly felt a little sad as he wondered if Porthos ever had to do that for food and the answer was obvious. Suddenly he longed for his friend’s company and considered going back to the tavern. His pride however got the better of him. Porthos hadn’t even given him a chance to explain that he had never been with that man’s wife and the larger musketeer always needed a few hours to cool off anyway. He was like a raged bull when his anger blinded him.

About ten minutes after, Aramis realised that leaving a downtown tavern alone was probably not the best idea. Before he registered he was even being followed about five men were suddenly surrounding him. It was dark and he could barely see their faces. He slowed down his pace, not even drawing his sword, a result of the wine slowing his reactions down.  
“What’s a pretty musketeer doing alone in a street like this I wonder?” One of the men said, taking a step closer as his fellow men snickered. Aramis noticed he had a deep scar going from his nose to his chin and frowned at being called ‘pretty’ twice in one night. Handsome he could handle but not pretty.

“I like his coat.” One man said from behind him, “looks expensive.”  
“It’s not, actually.” Aramis finally answered, turning to look at the larger man behind him. He noticed then that all these men were carrying weapons and silently prayed they were just here for his not-expensive coat. “Surely, gentlemen, we can come to some sort of agreement.” He tried.

Aramis put on his most innocent smile and held his hands up. Before anything more could be said the man with the scar twitched his head to the side in signal and massive arms clamped around Aramis’ chest, holding his arms down with it. He wriggled and growled and twisted but really he might as well have been held down by Porthos for all it was worth.  
He would like to say he put up a good fight but he could hardly move much when a second man came to hold him down tighter, whilst the other three started ripping his coat off and grabbing his weapons.  
“He aint got any money!” One man piped up, sounding more disgusted than disappointed.

“Where’s your money musketeer?” Scar face asked angrily, eyes scanning over Aramis’ body to see where he could possibly be hiding it.

“You would never believe me if I told you,” Aramis began but could not continue as he was kneed in the gut. He tried to wriggle again but they forced him to the muddy ground and held him there.  
And so to compensate for Aramis not having money they decided to punch and kick him until he was lying in a heap on the ground, covered in mud and blood. He could feel his body forming bruises even before they got bored with him. They dashed away with his coat and weapons. Aramis stared up at the stars and sighed in pain and annoyance. He could not afford new weapons now and he did so love his musket.  
Groaning as he sat up, his head throbbed and he could taste blood in his mouth. At least his nose wasn’t broken, he observed as he ran muddy fingers over his face. His head began to spin when he finally stood up properly and he stumbled a little to his left but managed to stop himself from receiving an extra layer of mud. He hobbled down the road hoping the garrison would appear in his view soon.

…………………………………………………………………………

And that was how Aramis found himself marching home in the rain. He could feel the wet, sticky mud covering his aching body. His hair was soaked through and he really didn’t want to concentrate on the pain he was in. They hadn’t beaten him too badly but he was sure he looked a mess of bruises and he was almost certain that kick to his gut had left his stomach blue. He clenched his jaw when he almost folded in on himself and gave up.

His boots made a horrible squelching noise as he walked along, as if to remind him that he was wet. He sighed loudly and dramatically to himself and followed it with a groan of frustration. The only person he wanted now was Porthos. He would know how to make Aramis feel better. He longed for Porthos’ warm laugh.

Aramis quickened his pace as much as he could when he suddenly realised how cold he was. He marched for another ten minutes until something told him to turn around. He looked over his shoulder and realised there was a large figure heading towards him. No, fuck no, not again. He turned and started moving forward as fast as his aching body would allow. He deliberately turned sharply down a different street, not daring to look behind him. He turned right, then right again to get back on the main road, hoping he had lost the person behind him. His hopes were crushed however when a large hand landed on his shoulder and turned him around. 

“Aramis, where in hell are you walking to?” The man’s familiar gruff voice said.  
“Porthos?” Aramis asked, feeling beyond relief.  
“Yes, who were you expecting? The Cardinal?” Porthos looked down at him in mild amusement, his familiar boyish grin transforming his face. His expression quickly changed however when he took in the site of his brother.  
“What the hell happened to you?” He put a finger under Aramis’ chin to move his face up into the moonlight.  
“I was robbed, twice.” Aramis replied in defeat.  
“Twice?” Porthos asked.  
“Yup,” Aramis replied, “first by a child and second by a group of men.”   
“What?” Porthos asked, “They hurt you?”  
Aramis smiled at how suddenly Porthos had become worried and protective.  
“I’m alright,” Aramis said, “they did a good number on me but I’ll be fine.”  
Porthos snorted, raising his eyebrows in a way that said he knew Aramis was lying and before Aramis could argue the larger man was wrapping his cloak around Aramis’ shoulders.  
Porthos kept an arm around Aramis’ shoulders and started leading them forward.  
“C’mon,” He said, “Let’s get you home so I can take a look at ya.”  
Aramis relaxed, finally feeling safe. He suddenly became aware of how tired he was and his eyes drooped while they were walking. He needed to get something off his chest though, which stopped him from falling flat on his face.  
“Porthos,” he began, “about tonight… what happened.”  
“Later,” Porthos answered and Aramis couldn’t find the energy to argue.  
His eyes were drooping heavily and they were still a far distance from the garrison. He thought perhaps he could just close them for a bit while they were walking… just rest them. He thought he heard Porthos mumbling something about how visiting a tavern so far away was a terrible idea. Aramis smiled and sighed with relief in having his brother with him, making his pain lessen a little and his body relax. He suddenly felt himself fall forward but a steady hand stopped what surely would have been a pathetic tumble to the ground.  
“Aramis?” Porthos asked, his voice urgent with worry.  
All Aramis could do was groan in reply. He was so tired and sore, he couldn’t fathom speaking now. The world shifted horribly as he felt his feet being lifted off the ground and realised Porthos had picked him up and was going to carry him the rest of the way like a child. Aramis mumbled something about dignity and was surprised when Porthos chuckled in understanding.  
“You almost permanently embedded your pretty face on one of the dirtiest streets of Paris and you want to talk about dignity?” he stated as he walked, carrying Aramis like he weighed nothing. Aramis moved an arm around Porthos’ neck and rested his cheek on his shoulder.  
“They took my weapons,” He groaned, “And I’m not pretty.”  
“I can see they did, and yes you are,” Porthos said, “How did a kid manage to rob you anyway?”   
“I gave him my money,” Aramis answered.  
“Why?” Porthos asked, knowing full well his friend was not that drunk when he left the tavern.  
“He was hungry.” Came Aramis’ simple reply.  
Porthos stopped walking and looked down at his friend’s tired face. Aramis’ eyes were closed and his face was littered in bruises. Porthos suddenly felt warm as Aramis’ words sunk in. He always knew Aramis had a kind heart but when he was reminded of it, it was something to behold. Porthos kissed Aramis’ forehead and continued his trek.   
“The world needs more people like you my brother.” Porthos whispered, knowing that Aramis was half asleep.  
“What?” Aramis replied, “Pretty people like me?”  
Porthos snorted, “Don’t let it get into ya head now.”  
“I don’t want to be pretty,” Aramis grumbled, well aware of the fact he was talking nonsense and that Porthos would enlighten him, “I want to be handsome.”  
“Handsome?” Porthos teased, “Athos, d’Artagnan and myself are handsome… you my brother are prettier than Constance.”  
Aramis pried his eyes open and concentrated on Porthos’ cheeky grin, “Say that to her face.” He dared.  
Porthos giggled, “I don’t have to she said it herself.”  
“That’s a lie, Du Vallon.” Aramis mumbled sleepily and let his eyes droop shut again. He fell asleep to the sound of Porthos’ laughter and his leather boots trudging the muddy ground determinedly.  
Aramis woke to Porthos gently tapping his face. He swatted at his hand and groggily looked around. He was in his room, in his bed, in clean clothes. He looked up at Porthos whose face took some time to get into focus.  
“You with me?” The larger musketeer asked softly.  
Aramis nodded and smiled even though his head was throbbing. Porthos grinned and gently lifted him into a sitting position. He tucked the blankets tighter around his friend when he noticed he was still shivering.   
He looked at Aramis a moment and said, “Took care of your bruises, nothing broken. Had to stitch your lip though.”  
Aramis groaned and put a finger gently to his split lip. He frowned when he felt the stitches there.  
“Don’t worry I don’t think the scar will be that big.” Porthos teased.  
“Least I won’ be pretty no more.” Aramis answered sleepily.  
Porthos rolled his eyes and stood up. He walked over to a table and retrieved a bowl from it.  
“Serge sent some soup up for ya.” He explained, “He got a little alarmed when I walked into the garrison carrying you like a child.”  
Aramis accepted the soup and looked up at Porthos with a horrified expression. Porthos chuckled at what must have been the most childlike look his friend had ever given him.  
“Don’t worry,” He said, “no one else saw. Eat your soup before it gets cold, I’ll be right back.”  
Before Porthos was out the door, Aramis called to him.  
“Porthos,” He turned to face his brother, “Thank you.”  
Porthos smiled softly, “Any time René.” And stepped out the door.

Aramis frowned at the use of his first name. Athos and Porthos only ever called him that in private when they were teasing him or were worried about him. It was mostly the former. 

He tucked into his soup, smiling at how it warmed him up and told himself to thank serge in the morning. He placed his bowl on the pedestal when he was done and relaxed back into the pillows. He closed his eyes and drifted off, frowning as he became cold again.

The second time Aramis woke was the early hours of the morning. His left side felt warm and he turned to see Porthos snoring softly beside him. His brother had obviously returned while he was sleeping. Aramis always slept better with Porthos beside him, ever since Savoy. Porthos never minded much, always seemed to anticipate when Aramis needed him. Aramis turned to his side and snuggled closer to his brother, who automatically wrapped his arm around him in his sleep and pulled him closer. Aramis smiled happily. They had always been close and he could not imagine his life without Porthos. He closed his eyes and drifted off again, his last coherent thought before sleep was how he dreaded having to use the second hand weapons in the garrison until he could get new ones.

Aramis woke the next morning with Porthos tapping on his face again.  
“I hate it when you do that.” He grumbled sleepily.  
“Well bloody wake up when I call you!” Came Porthos’ reply. Aramis opened his eyes slowly and stared at his brother who was already dressed. With a cheeky grin Porthos lowered his hand again and tapped Aramis’ face some more, even though he was clearly awake.  
“Aramis wake up! Wake up!” Porthos was yelling in between his own laughter.  
Aramis promptly sat up and shoved his pillow into Porthos’ face, who only laughed louder.  
“C’mon, he chuckled we’re gonna be late for breakfast. Get dressed.”   
Aramis rose from his bed and hissed in pain. His stomach was throbbing. Porthos instantly stopped laughing and put a hand gently on Aramis’ shoulder.  
“Stomach?” He asked.  
Aramis nodded and let Porthos help him stand.   
“Treville will give you light duty today no doubt.” Porthos mumbled.  
He helped Aramis get dressed as much as he could to stop his brother from being in more pain. When they reached the steps that lead down to the tables Porthos put his hand on Aramis’ arm.  
“Want me to carry you down?” Porthos asked and Aramis realised he was being serious.  
“Don’t you dare.” Aramis replied.

Rolling his eyes Porthos helped Aramis down the steps, which proved to be a slow journey.  
They ate their breakfast in silence, surrounded by their chattering brothers. Aramis had told Athos what had happened who asked for a detailed description of the men.  
Aramis watched Porthos eat his breakfast and decided he had to talk about what was nagging at him.  
“Porthos,” Aramis said carefully. When his brother looked up he continued, “I swear I never slept with that man’s wife. I have never even heard of her.”  
Porthos frowned and sighed.

“I believe you.” He said, “The look on your face when that man mentioned her… I just got angry. I apologise for what I said.”  
Aramis sighed in relief, “I apologise for my… reputation.”  
Porthos studied his face a little and said, “Just please be more careful Aramis. I beg you.”  
“I will be more careful. For you I will.” Aramis promised. And he meant it.  
Porthos smiled and continued eating. While everyone was enjoying their breakfast Porthos decided to ask everyone at the table to put up their hands if they thought Aramis was pretty.  
Aramis threw his empty bowl at him, which only elicited a laughing fit from his brother.


End file.
